


Early Mornings

by Duckgomery



Series: This Old House [2]
Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Early Mornings, Gen, author Pitch, bonding or whatever, painter Sandy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2013-01-28
Packaged: 2017-11-27 07:22:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/659363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duckgomery/pseuds/Duckgomery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some times the best conversations are the ones that aren't said with words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Early Mornings

**Author's Note:**

> I apologise for the weird ass formatting. I don't know what the problem is, it's all fine in the word document, it only transfers, like, part of the formatting over and I do not get along well enough with computers to try and fiddle around to fix it.  
> Also, second part, woot.

 

 

                Pitch looks out the kitchen window and glares at the still present moon accusingly.

“This is all your fault,” he grumbles, still in the process of brewing his third cup of coffee for the new day.

A shuffle, and the scent of turpentine and acrylics him alert his already hyped senses that he is not alone.

“Morning, Sanderson.” Not bothering to away from his long-time foe, mocking him from beyond his reach.

Sandy simply scuffs over to the fridge, rummaging around for anything edible and easy to assemble.

Cold leftovers it was.

And maybe a nice hot drink if Pitch was so kind.

Sandy clears his throat. Pitch knows well enough what the stout man wants. He reaches over with long, spindly arms and brings another mug out. Felling a tad vindicative, he uses Jack’s chocolate drink mix instead of sparring any of his own coffee stash.

 Rummaging through the boy’s designated cabinet, Pitch figured he’d need to remind Jack that he should probably go out and stock up. The contents were sparse and mostly inedible on their own or in any combination that could be created out of them.

Handing over the sweet smelling mug, Pitch doesn’t bother hiding his disgust at what Sandy is leisurely consuming.

Once finished with the gift the fridge had bestowed upon him this earliest of morning hours, Sandy starts on his drink, not too fussed that it isn’t the caffeine he’d never been promised.

Pitch drums his fingers on the table in the absence of a keyboard while Sandy looks about the room in an almost dreamlike state. The soft light of morning is starting to warm the colours of the room.

Sandy contemplates capturing the colours beginning to stream in onto his canvases.

This moment is theirs and theirs alone.

While the house’s other occupants follow regular routines, Pitch and Sandy’s fluctuates depending on how kind or cruel inspiration was to them. Bunny always leaves the house at five for his morning run. North will go to the lounge and watch the morning news. Tooth will fly about the kitchen in a frenzy, having spent too long once more on her hair and makeup before rushing off to work, crashing into Bunny in the process of leaving through the front door.

Jack at least was like them, though he was still burdened by the shackle of having to attend classes and working part time. As such, early mornings where one of the many things that you wouldn’t associate Jackson Overland Frost with unless you really twisted his arm. You had to dump a bucket of ice cold water on him to force the youth awake, not that anyone had tried that. Well, at least, not more than four times.

He’d gotten them all back for that in what was known as ‘The Big Freeze.’

Jack preferred ‘Christmas in July’.

They all chose not to talk about that incident.

Sandy placed his now empty mug down with enough force to snap Pitch out of whatever sequence of events that were playing around in his mind. The smile was unsettling to say the least. His editor was going to have words once more.

“Yes, Sanderson.” Spider like fingers halt their previous monotonously repetitive motion.

Small, paint stained hands steeple in front of Sandy’s mouth.

“What about that boy?” Grim eyes dart everywhere but the scruffy, blonde haired man.

One fair eyebrow is raised.

“It’s nothing. He’s the one who won’t leave me alone.”

Sandy’s face doesn’t budge.

Pitch doesn’t know if it was the lack of anything resembling sleep for the past thirty six hours or that maybe he shouldn’t have had that much coffee in such sort of time, none the less his resolve was crumbling.

“He’s a good kid, alright? Is that what you want to hear? He actually listens and comes up with decent arguments and ideas and he helps.” Pitch looks over to the window. Dawn is in the process of breaking over the surrounding rooftops.

“She’d have been about his age now. Where did the years go, Sandy?”

                Sandy smiled sadly at Pitch, despite the fact that the other man’s thoughts weren’t in the room that the two shared. Though his prying had rewarded him with the answers he’d been seeking, guilt at bringing Pitch’s past into light still hung heavy.

                They sat in each other’s silent company once more, merely reflecting.

                Loud footsteps thudded down the stairs and Bunny walked over to the sink, filling up his water bottle.

                “Do you two even sleep?” Was all the broad shouldered young man said before he continued with his morning routine.

                The house shuffled in the process of waking up.

                Their moment was over.


End file.
